


Better Make It Quick

by Blink_Blue



Series: Tumblr Prompts (Coliver) [18]
Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Established Relationship, M/M, Oliver uses those muscles he got at the gym, Smut, and then against the wall, and then an alternate ending, as it sometimes does, cockblocking Asher, like right on the sink, then end up at the hospital, where sex goes bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 17:01:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7900723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blink_Blue/pseuds/Blink_Blue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the couch taken over by one Mr. Millstone, things in the bedroom have been lacking for a while. Oliver blows off steam by hitting the gym more often, and Connor just can't help but notice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Connor Walsh _loves_ sex.

He loves it. And not the way the average guy loves sex—he _craves_ it. It’s the beast that lingers in the back of his mind every second of every day, poking and prodding at him, never giving him a moment’s peace. He’s been sexually active for over a decade now, and the only thing worse than a dry spell, is abstaining when the thing you want is literally _right there_ in front of you. In a tank top. With sweat soaked, unruly hair. And fucking basketball shorts.

Connor swallows harshly as he watches Oliver close the door behind him, acting for all intents and purposes so fucking innocent, with his headphones in his ears, like he doesn’t even notice them—what a dick. And sure, maybe Oliver’s a bit mad at him at the moment. After all, Asher is definitely not one of his favorite people, and said individual is currently camping out on their sofa. Maybe this dry period is as hard on Oliver as it is on him. Connor scoffs silently in his head. He fucking doubts it.

The last time they went two weeks without sex—not even _handjobs,_ Oliver was insistent—it was awful. Connor shakes his head, shuddering at the thought. But now, Oliver’s just returned from the gym. The guy has been going to the gym every single day after work. _I’m clearly going to need some other way to blow off steam,_ is all he said when Connor questioned him. And now Connor glowers from his spot on the couch as he watches him, skin still glistening with sweat, muscles in his arms bulging from their workout, and shoulders looking too damn broad for their own good.

“Dude, are you even paying attention?”

Connor’s head snaps over to the sound of the voice. “What?”

Asher sighs. “It’s your turn.”

Connor turns his head to the tv screen. The controller feels heavy in his limp hands. He’s got no desire to play video games right now. Not when he knows Oliver is about to hop in the shower to wash the sweat and grime of a good workout off of him. Well, let’s just say Connor’s about to give him another damn good work out.

“Hey, actually… I’m—I’m pretty hungry,” Connor’s eyes drift back over to Oliver—still with his passive aggressive headphones in—currently grabbing a drink from the fridge. “We should uh… think about dinner.”

“Yeah, alright. I’m pretty hungry myself. You feeling pizza tonight?”

“Um… sure, whatever… pizza’s good. You should go pick us up a pie. Or two—we’re gonna be fucking hungry,” Connor murmurs, his attention still focused on the man in the kitchen.

But Asher frowns at him. “Why don’t we just order delivery? It’s easier.”

Asher’s words eventually filter through the sex deprived haze in his brain and Connor finally turns to glare at him. “You know delivery takes forever. They’ve always got a bunch of places to go to first, and by the time the pizza gets here, it’s soggy and gross. I won’t eat soggy, gross pizza. No. You are picking us up some take out.”

Asher stares at him like he’s grown another head. “Alright, alright.” He says with his hands held up innocently as he stands, grabbing his keys from the coffee table. “I’ll pick us up some pizza. Pepperoni good?”

“Whatever. I don’t care,” Connor hisses.

“You are so fucking weird, dude.”

Asher says goodbye to Oliver on his way out, and gets a nod in return for his troubles. Then he’s out the door. And for the first time in over a week, they have the place to themselves! But the stupidly wide grin that’s plastered on Connor’s face drops quickly when Oliver walks past him into the bedroom without even making eye contact.

Connor rolls his eyes as he jumps to his feet and rushes after the other man.

He already feels his dick hardening in his pants when he grabs Oliver by the arm—the other man sputters in shock, headphones ripped out of his ears—swings him around and presses their lips and bodies together. The force of his movement is enough to send Oliver sprawling back against the wall of the room. Connor kisses him like a drowning man gasping for air. Like the days they’ve spent without touching each other more than a peck on the lips were pure _agony_ to get through—and they really were. Oliver can pretend to be salty all he wants, but when Connor grinds their hips together, the other man lets out the most _delicious_ moan.

A smug grin pulls on Connor’s lips, even as they continue to kiss hungrily. His hands travel up Oliver’s abdomen to his broad chest, and then over his shoulders and down his arms. He wants those strong arms wrapped around him. He wants the other man _inside_ him. He wants it rough and fast and dirty, and he wants to feel _every inch_ of Oliver that he’s been deprived of for so damn long.

“I hope you’re not too worn out from the gym,” he says huskily when they finally part for breath.

“How long is Asher gone?” Oliver growls.

“Twenty… thirty minutes tops?”

Oliver’s pupils are blown as he watches him. They both pause, for about three seconds, before both jumping into motion. Clothes are quickly discarded on the bedroom floor. Oliver’s gym clothes are much easier to remove than Connor’s button down shirt and slacks. As Connor struggles out of his pants, his eyes are glued to his boyfriend’s cock, already well on its way to primed for his enjoyment.

He’s barely got his pants off when Oliver grabs him by the arms, pulls him towards the wall so that their positions are flipped, and now Connor’s the one being ravaged against the wall behind him and he fucking loves it _so_ much.

“I want you, in me—right now!” He gasps.

Oliver manages to pull his lips away from where they had attached themselves to Connor’s neck. His eyes are dark, pupils blown, and full of lustful intent as he watches Connor. “Oh, is that what you want?” He says, _way_ too casually.

“Oliver,” Connor growls. He’s about to make his desires clearly known—

“I’m gonna fuck you hard, you’re gonna cum all over yourself.”

Connor lets out the most embarrassing sound, like he choked on the saliva in his throat or something. The breath is harshly let out of his lungs, and he suddenly feels a bit lightheaded just _imagining_ —

“You’re not going to be able to walk straight for hours,” Oliver continues in a low voice and Connor has to bite his lip to keep quiet, before he remembers—there’s no one around to hear them.

Oliver grabs his hips, pulls him away from the wall, and starts pushing him into the adjacent bathroom. “Ow!” He hisses when the ledge of the sink counter bumps into the back of his thighs.

“Sorry,” Oliver says quickly.

“No, no! I like it. I like when you’re rough with me.”

Oliver simply stares at him for a second, and Connor smirks because he always knows _just_ what to say to set him off. Moments later, Oliver snaps out of it and returns to his previous task of digging in the drawer for lube. “Turn around,” he says, bottle in hand. And Connor eagerly complies.

Their eyes meet in the mirror, and somehow that just turns them on even more. Especially when Oliver slips the first lube covered finger into the tight heat of Connor’s body, and Connor gasps. His eyes go wide and his lips fall open, and Oliver catches every single detail. And when he slips a second finger in, twists them, and curls them just right, Connor’s gasps become moans.

“Hurry up!” Connor cries. “I’m ready!” What he wasn’t expecting was for Oliver to harshly turn him around, grab him under his thighs and hoist them up so he’s practically laying—quite uncomfortably—against the sink and mirror. But then Oliver lines his cock up against his entrance. His hands grip his thighs tight enough to bruise as he slowly presses into Connor’s body.

They both let out a hoarse cry when Oliver’s finally buried to the hilt. It’s been too damn long. The faucet angrily digs into Connor’s back, and he supports himself by wrapping his arms around Oliver’s neck. “Move. Move now,” he growls as he leans forward and crushes their lips together.

And _fuck,_ Oliver does. One of his arms moves to wrap around the back of Connor’s waist. He pulls him close and starts by rolling his hips. The thrusts slowly get bigger, _deeper,_ and they leave Connor whimpering so fucking loudly. Oliver always feels so fucking perfect inside him. When he pulls out nearly all the way, just to slam back home again, it has him throwing his head back, lips parted in a desperate gasp. His toes curl and his legs tremble, wrapped around Oliver’s waist. Every single thrust of Oliver’s cock against his prostate has him jolting in pleasure.

Oliver’s lips find his own, and they gasp and moan into each other’s mouths, sharing their bodies, their space, their _air._

This isn’t just sex. What he has with Oliver is something both beautiful and dangerous, because it makes him feel so many damn emotions. Fear. Love. Desire. Ache. And pain. Oliver is more than just his partner, he’s his fucking lifeline.

And being so close, with not even an inch of space between them, it’s damn near _heavenly_.

“Connor! Fucking Christ!” Oliver gasps as he continues to fuck so _deep_ into his lover’s body. He growls deep in his throat, lifts Connor up with a hand gripped under his thigh, and the other supporting his back. Connor’s eyes fly open when he’s lifted off the sink, and Oliver stumbles with him in his arms, until his back harshly hits the wall of the small bathroom.

Connor lets out a choked grunt when Oliver’s thrusts continue to hit his prostate, and his back suffers from every wonderful movement. Oliver’s face is buried in his neck, his throaty moans muffled by Connor’s sweat dampened skin.

Connor bites his lip to stifle his own sounds of pleasure. The muscles in his abdomen clench rhythmically with _every_ single carnal thrust, and he knows he’s close. Oliver’s close too—he can read his body almost as well as his own. The other man’s arms are glistening with sweat. The muscles tremble and shake from the effort of not only fucking his brains out, but holding him up against a wall while doing it.

“You look so fu-fucking good,” Connor stutters as the initial tingling of his orgasm pools in his stomach.

“Connor—” Oliver gasps.

“You feel so fucking good—inside me—fucking me—I can feel you—all of you—and I fucking love it—”

“Connor, I’m gonna—”

“I could take your cock all day—”

“Ah—fuck!”

Connor holds onto those muscular shoulders for dear life as Oliver continues to pound into him. He’s so close—he can’t hold back any longer. Oliver gasps and shakes against him, filling him up inside, and it’s enough to push him over the edge. He gasps as his body clenches, and he shoots stream after stream of hot cum between their bellies.

They gasp together when it’s over, trying to catch their breaths. Muscle fatigue eventually sets in and Oliver lets them slowly slide to the floor. His knees hit the ground with a painful thump. But Connor’s back aches enough that he can’t feel bad about it.

Oliver’s lips find his own. And he presses gentle kisses over his cheeks, his brow, his eyes. It’s a sweet gesture, especially when they’re both lying in a messy pile on the floor, limbs entangled, and in desperate need of a shower.

“I love you so much,” Oliver murmurs.

“I love you, too,” Connor says softly as he gazes into the other man’s eyes.

The nice moment is interrupted by a new voice. “Hey, what are you guys—oh fuck!” Asher quickly shields his eyes with his hand, but the damage is done.

“Shit!”

“Asher!”

How did they not hear the front door open?! Well… they know why.

Oliver quickly scrambles to grab a towel hanging next to them to cover up as Asher rushes back the way he came. The smell of fresh pizza wafts into the bathroom.

“Jesus Christ, if you guys wanted to fuck you could have just said something! I would’ve stayed gone longer!”

Connor chuckles even as Oliver gives him his best post coital glare. “Shower?” He asks softly.

Oliver nods. “Definitely shower.”

“Hey, Walsh! Your pizza’s getting soggy and gross, you ass!”


	2. Alternate Ending

“This is awful,” Oliver mutters. “This is terrible. This is the worst thing that’s ever happened. The worst. The absolute. Worst.”

“What the hell are you complaining about? I’m the one seeing triple of everything.”

Oliver tries his best to glare but there’s no anger behind his eyes. Only concern and worry, mixed with a healthy dose of guilt. Because it was technically _his_ fault. It may take two to tango, and sure they were both enjoying themselves thoroughly, but—the laws of physics state that for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. And to be put simply, the action of his cock slamming into Connor’s body—the force of which sent the other man’s head into the mirror behind him—basically resulted in a contest between skull and mirror. And Connor came out of it concussed. Oliver’s cock concussed his boyfriend. He had never been so ashamed in his life.

“I am so, _so_ sorry—”

“How the hell did this happen anyway?” Asher asks suddenly from his left. “I get back with pizza and the next thing I know, you’re rushing me back out the door saying we’ve got to get Connor to a hospital—he’s hurt. Wouldn’t tell me a damn thing about it—“

“Shut up, Asher!” Oliver hisses under his breath as Connor attempts his best eye roll—which is _almost_ hilarious for two reasons. One: his eyes don’t roll in sync and seem to be going in different directions. Two: the doctor becomes exasperated in her own attempts to check her patient’s pupils with her penlight.

“Actually I’m quite curious myself as to how this ‘accident’ occurred.”

Oliver opens his mouth, but only ends up gaping awkwardly like a fish. He’s still too embarrassed to say the words out loud. In front of Asher, and in front of a stranger! Truth be told, they hadn’t had sex in a week! Who can really blame him for being over eager??

“Well, uh…”

“After I’m finished with my patient,” Dr. Williams interrupts him. Oliver breathes a quick sigh of relief as the doctor turns back to Connor. “I’m going to ask you a few questions now. Can you tell me your name?”

“Connor Walsh,” he says smoothly.

“And what year is it?”

“2016.”

“Who is the president of the United States?”

“Um…” The spot between Connor’s brows furrow a bit. “… Barack Obama.”

“And what is your home address?”

Connor blinks but doesn’t answer. Oliver holds his breath.

“1923… Aramingo Avenue… Apartment… Apartment… 303.”

The doctor looks to Oliver for verification, to which Oliver quickly nods in response, finally letting out the breath he had been holding.

“Okay, now Mr. Walsh, can you tell me how you’re feeling right now? Headache? Dizziness? Nausea?”

Connor nods, but seems to immediately regret it. “Yeah, all of the above,” he says slowly. “I—I feel really tired too. Like… I just want to sleep,” he mumbles. “I want to go to bed.”

“That’s perfectly normal with a head injury,” Dr. Williams says gently. “Any sensitivity to light or sound?”

“Yup. That too,” he says as Oliver watches him worriedly.

“Alright,” the doctor quickly glances down at her clipboard of notes. “Headache, mild memory loss, nausea, confusion, sleepiness, and sensitivity to light and sound. It’s clear you’ve got a mild concussion. Nothing that some well needed bed rest won’t clear up.”

“Oh thank god,” Oliver says softly under his breath. “So is that it? Are—are you sure he doesn’t need a CT scan or something—“

“Actually I have a few more questions to ask,” Dr. Williams interrupts. “Specifically about how this injury occurred.”

“Uh…” A warm flush quickly spreads over Oliver’s cheeks and down his neck. Images of Connor with lips parted, head thrown back in passion and pleasure, legs tightly wrapped around his waist, and the most sinful of moans coming from his throat—quickly invade his thoughts. He can’t tell _that_ story to the room. “It uh—it was an accident—we um… we uh…“

“You two live together?” The doctor asks as Oliver’s voice trails off.

“Yeah, he’s—he’s my boyfriend,” Oliver says quickly.

“And do these types of accidents happen frequently in your home?”

“Um… no, I—I wouldn’t say frequently no—” Oliver stutters.

“Is there any history of other accidents or injuries I should know about?”

“Well…“ Oliver doesn’t have to think far back to remember another [similar accident](http://winters-blue-children.tumblr.com/post/137133143439/you-should-write-the-one-about-coliver-patching-a) that resulted in a trip to the ER. “Uh… well there—there was this other time that… Connor um… he… he fell off the bed and—well he dislocated his shoulder. It—it was an accident—“ Oliver cringes as he remembers the amount of pain Connor was in. There was no shortage of complaints from the other man that day, on the way to the hospital… and in the waiting room… Somehow these things always seem to be his fault, and Connor always ends up in the ER…

“An accident?” Dr. Williams asks with an eyebrow raised.

“Yes,” Oliver says dumbly.

“An accident like this one?”

 _Exactly_ like this one. Except they weren’t even rushed that other time.

“It—it was my fault—“

Connor tries to catch his eyes, which Oliver pointedly refuses to meet _because._

“ _Your_ fault?” The doctor asks.

“Uh… well, what happened was—um… we uh… I—I honestly didn’t mean to, I mean… it—it was an accident—”

“Okay, I think I’ve heard enough,” Dr. Williams says. “There are more qualified people to deal with this situation than myself, and I will be contacting them immediately.”

“Wh-what?” Oliver asks confused. More qualified people? There are experts on how to not injure your partner during sex? “Um… what uh… who—“

“Hold on just a fucking minute!”

Oliver jumps at Asher’s indignant outburst beside him.

“What exactly are you implying?!” The other man demands.

“What…” Oliver looks at him confused, then to the doctor, then back to Asher. “Asher, what are you—“

“No, this is bullshit!” Asher cuts him off, eyes still fixed on Dr. Williams. “Are you seriously implying what I think you’re implying because that’s ridiculous—“

“I’m just taking the situation as I see it—“

“That’s fucking crazy—“

“What is happening?” Oliver whispers.

“These two idiots are so goddamn in love with each other, it’s fucking offensive that you would even _suggest—“_

Dr. Williams holds up her hands in defense. “I’m just doing my job, if I see a situation that raises my suspicions, I have to bring it up with the proper—“

“This is ridiculous!”

“WHAT IS HAPPENING?!” Oliver shrieks. The entire room falls into silence, which, if the look on Connor’s face is anything to go by, the man is quite thankful for.

Connor lets out a sigh and a groan. But clearly he seems to grasp the situation better than Oliver does. “The doctor thinks you hit me,” he says simply.

Oliver blanches, the blood quickly rushes from his face, and he feels almost as lightheaded as Connor looks. The mere idea of it—it’s too much— “What—?! NO!” He quickly looks at the doctor, turns back to Connor, then to the doctor again. A small part of him thinks the situation would be hilarious except for the fact that _it’s not._ “No no no! This wasn’t—it’s not—oh my god, NO!”

The doctor looks at him a bit skeptical.

“Oh my god, we were _fucking_ , okay?!”

All eyes in the room turn to him.

“Oh god, we were _fucking.”_ Oliver throws his hand in the air. _“_ We hadn’t had sex in a _week!_ Because this idiot—“ He gestures to Asher. “Had been bumming on our couch! And—and then he left! To get pizza! And Connor told me we only had twenty minutes! So we were rushing—and I guess we were desperate—but it happened in the bathroom—and the mirror was right there! How as I supposed to know this would happen?? We were just _fucking—“_

“You guys were _doing it_?!” Asher stares at him scandalized.

“ _A fucking week—“_ Oliver hisses.

Connor snorts and Asher has the audacity to look peeved. “You guys were having sex while I was out getting dinner for us?!”

“Moby dick’s gotta blow…”

Oliver’s eyes widen. Even when Connor has his mental faculties, he’s got a loose mouth.

“We were just taking a trip to pound town…”

“Connor, shut up!” Oliver says through gritted teeth. “You’re concussed—you don’t know what you’re saying.”

Connor’s shoulders shake with soft laughter, even as his eyes fight to stay open. “We booked two tickets to the bone zone…”

Oliver feels faint taking in the scandalized looks on Asher and Dr. Williams’ faces.

“We were playing a game of _hide the sausage_ …”

“Connor, stop. Please.”

“Oliver was giving me a _hot_ beef injection _—_ ”

“While I was _getting pizza?!”_

“Please don’t listen to him.”

“But it’s true?!” Asher shrieks.

“Clearly Oliver’s cock was too much for me to handle…”

“Connor, please stop talking,” Oliver begs.

“What I mean to say is, Dr. Williams… though I may be concussed…” Connor slurs, “And though it may be the fault of my loving, gorgeous, sexy, wonderful boyfriend… he was simply giving me the _real_ good dicking that I was _asking_ for… Like _begging_ for.”

“Connor, please stop,” Oliver whispers.

“But really, let’s be honest here,” Connor glances at him. “We broke the mirror—that can be replaced. My head feels like a bunch of teenage delinquents are playing Rock Band inside it—that will stop, _eventually._ It’s really not as bad as it seems. I’m _fine._ Everything is fine. _I_ am fine—“  

“Connor, you were knocked out for twelve seconds,” Oliver says bluntly.

“I’m fine—“

“Okay.” Dr. Williams says sternly, standing from her seat, clipboard in hand. “Clearly, I was mistaken, and this is not the situation I thought it was.”

“Oh thank god,” Oliver mutters under his breath.

“Everything is fine here,” Dr. Williams says gently, “I’m going to tell the nurse to prescribe some pain relievers, and she’ll give you a list of things to look out for in concussion patients.”

“Thank you so much,” Oliver says quickly. He’s not quite able to hold her eyes for more than a second, the embarrassment is still getting to him. The feeling of Asher’s glare on him isn’t helping.

“I wish you the best of luck,” the doctor says with a small smirk on her face as she leaves the room.

Oliver feels his cheeks redden as he pointedly refuses to meet anyone’s glance.

“Really?” Asher demands when they’re alone. “You had me leave so you could _fuck—“_

 _“_ One _week,_ Asher—“

“You could have just said something!”

“It’s our home, we shouldn’t have to!” Oliver cries.

Connor’s snort cuts them off. “I had a really good time. Right up until, you know…”

Oliver rolls his eyes. “Connor, please don’t.”

“Like, a _really_ good time,” Connor says with a crooked grin.

“Oh god, please stop,” Asher groans.

Never in a million years, did Oliver believe he’d find him and  _Asher_ actually agreeing on something. But Connor Walsh just seems to bring it out of them. 

**Author's Note:**

> [x](http://winters-blue-children.tumblr.com)


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